There is a lonely sense of romanticism standing alone on the empty pier jutting into the sea. Lonely, because of the piercing wind and sad-sounding call of seagulls, but romantic because of memories that seem to lurk beneath the gray depth of the sea at my feet. Were it not for my McGill hoodie, it might have been like any evening in my youth. Evenings when I'd just grab the bike and brave the North Sea winds to catch a glimpse of the setting sun.
Despite the familiar salty smell, that tingling grains of sands against my skin, and the ever-changing display of colours in the dusking sky, circumstances have changed a lot. It was around this time last year that the foundations of the big move across the Atlantic to Canada were being laid. A year later, who would have thought the beach that lay behind the dunes would now be so far away and difficult to reach.
But wherever I live, I guess there will always be the wind, the sand and the sea in my memory.
Everything seems to be so surprisingly green and refreshing. Or perhaps it’s the effect of being cooped up in a small space for much too long and being unable to sleep.
As I rode the train home, I noticed how Spring is so beautiful… how this country is so beautiful. The country and home I have lived in for so many years, and now is merely a place I frequent when the opportunity arises. There’s a fresh scent, of grass, of new budding leaves, of new life. Beautiful with the sun beaming down on the Earth.
I thought about it for a long, long time already. If I remember correctly, since late last year. But I postponed it every time, again and again because I wasn't sure if I was 'ready'. Even though, I think, deep down inside, I have always been ready. So I decided today, and I made the move. I've adopted a new cat!
Her name is Panda, from her beautifully black and white tuxedo coat. She's around one and a half years old (they think), and so unfortunately put outside when she got pregnant by her previous owner. And in many ways, she reminds me of Kleine Kat... the nose that's half white and half coloured, the shiny V-neck white coat on the front of her chest, and those big, bright eyes. Innocent, yet playful, curious, and yet radiating with intelligence.
She was shy at first, perhaps a little annoyed that she had been taken to attend an Adopthathon. This is where a dozen or so cats are brought from the shelter to a specific location in the hope of getting adopted. The shelter currently has two hundred or so cats, even more now that it's Spring and that little kittens are being born... and the economic crisis isn't helping either, since a lot of pets are being abandoned because people can't take care of them anymore.
To be honest, I've been browsing the website of the shelter for a long while already, and I narrowed the cats to a select few. I wanted a quiet cat, calm, and affectionate cat that likes to be petted and held, but is also not afraid to be alone during the day. And Panda, at least as far as I can see, seems to fit that description well.
As soon she entered the apartment, she carefully stepped out of the cage. She sought for a good hiding place, darting from corner to corner in search of a good hideout. But eventually, she found the toys, the scratch box, the green grass and litter box that I had carefully prepared for her. And she became more curious than afraid. I held out my hand, and within moments she was coming over and butting me, purring and with her tail straight up. At one point, she even lay on her back and played 'paw' with me.
Now, she lies asleep in front of me. She's quiet, and yelps a little sometimes. I wonder if she is missing the last of her kitten... but I hope soon that will all change, and that soon she will get used to the home that I can provide her. I really hope, like Kleine Kat, whom I have not forgotten or no longer miss, I be able to provide Panda a loving place, a place of belonging and security that she has been missing for far too long.
Last week, Jackie Chan found himself in a different kind of spotlight, one that is a far cry from the Hollywood glitz and glamour he is used to. The star of such (in my opinion poorly acted and low class) movies as Rush Hour and Who am I, perhaps Chan was a little lost when he uttered that "Chinese need to be controlled", and "if [Chinese] are not being controlled, [Chinese] will just do what we want". To make matters worse, he called freedom-aspring Hong Kong and freedom-practising Taiwan "chaotic".
In fact, Chan has recetly not simply jibed at Chinese people in general, or insulted the democratic societies of Hong Kong or Taiwan. In the same week or so, on a visit to the single-party city-State of Singapore, he claimed that because Singaporeans lack "self-respect", the Singaporeans too need a government to control them.
Chan's statement is at best a poor generalisation, and at worst outright an outright patronising (and verging on racist) remark that Chinese people cannot govern by themselves, "as if they were potential and deserving outcasts in a Chinese version of Brave New World — somehow deficient and hence to be purged". The kung-fu legend seems to believe that people in Hong Kong and Taiwan are like the Chinese in China; that they think alike, act alike, and therefore must be governed and controlled alike. This, depsite the fact that both the peoples of Hong Kong and Taiwan (and lest we forget, Singapore) have experienced completely different versions of history and democratic processes compared to China:
Chan has not only insulted Taiwanese, who spilled blood building their democracy, and people in Hong Kong, who have worked hard to retain freedom in the territory since the handover to China, but has also come very close to expressing racist sentiment in genetic terms.
If, as he claims, Chinese need to be “controlled,” then this implies that they are genetically predisposed to chaos and incapable of functioning without a system that imposes order — an authoritarian system.
At issue is the age-old argument between Confucianist and Legalist tradition. By attempting to argue that democracy would not work in China, Chan championed the Legalist tradition that justifies and supports strong control from a paternalistic, unaccountable central power — like Beijing and the Chinese Communist Party’s politburo.
The implication that Beijing would rather not reveal is that despite 5,000 years of culture, and nearly 3,000 years of Confucianism, Chinese need to be controlled because — though few will say it — they are too dumb, too stupid and too selfish to rule themselves democratically.
I guess Chan can afford to make these thoughtless (and yet provocative) comments, because he is now living the American dream in his big mansion in Los Angeles, far, far away from the the "chaotic" societies which he so-proudly claims need to be "controlled". This is, after all the same guy who sang at Beijing much touted (though at times mimed and carefully orchestrated) coming-out event last year at the 2008 Olympics. The same guy who will soon be singing at the "Believe in China" concert. However well the star-cum-sing can sing, his "Chinese need to be controlled" statement must have been:
Music to the ears of the government of Beijing, which has long been peddling the “we're the only thing holding this place together line,” and laughable nonsense to democrats in Hong Kong and Taipei, who seem to like their chaos just fine thank you. And all in time to mark 60 years since the Communists seized power in China and the Kuomintang in Taiwan went their own way.
It's worth noting that Chan, who was born in colonial-era Hong Kong and has made millions of dollars as a Hollywood film star, has never lived in the sort of repressive regime that he's advocating for his countrymen. As he proved by his comments this weekend, he obviously feels quite free to say whatever he wants.
Ironically, Chan often plays the part of kung-fu heroes "who have grabbed initiative and refused to accept fate", who kicked and punched for justice, for the poor and disenfranchised against the mean and oppressive. With his remarks, Chan seems to be playing the role of an anti-hero:
As the economies of the democracies have tumbled, the world’s autocracies have been on the march. Chan’s words, however, have put China’s authoritarians on the defensive for the moment. And they’ll remain there as long as thousands of Chinese continue to act like Jackie Chan characters, heroes seizing initiative and refusing to accept fate.
The star's agent was of course quick to defend that Chan's statement has been grossly misinterpreted and taken out of context, because his comment was in response to a question about censorship in the entertainment industry. If that is the case, then Chan would be happy to note that his latest movie Shinjuku Incident has been banned by the Chinese government because of its "unflattering portrayal of illegal Chinese immigrants and for its violence". Of course, Chan should have no problem with the ban, because in his own skewed world-view, the ban must be justified order to curtail freedom of information and knowledge, or otherwise people would start unleashing "chaos" and fighting and killing on the streets.
Unfortunately, whether purposely or not , the "kung-fu clown's":
... argument echoes precisely the same line that colonialists everywhere invoked as justification of their continued occupation of their colonies. It's also the same argument that the power elite in China, including Communist Party members and the business barons who cut deals with them, invoke to justify the perpetuation of one-party authoritarian rule in China and the abridgement of a range of freedoms for its people.
Chan made his comments shortly after Chinese Prime Minister Wen Jia-boa delivered the keynote speech at the Boao Forum For Asia. Indeed, the Chinese government/Chinese Communist Party's (remember, in China the Party=Government and Government=Party ) propoganda mouthpiece, the People's Daily was quick to manipulate Chan's remarks to justifiy its authoritarian control and (of course) deride Taiwan's democratic credentials:
"...if a society has yet to form a common sense of social morality, individuals will always need someone to look over their shoulders and to keep them in line. People in such a situation seem not to be able to afford the absence of a functioning government, or they will be thrown into the state of anarchy and feel confused. The Chinese mainland is generally a society in which government still plays an instructive or even enlightening role in standardizing the public conduct. The reason may lie in both history and reality: the whole decade of the so-called 'cultural revolution' wrought untold havoc to the time-honored Chinese civilizations, suffocating almost all the human ethics and courtesies."
The People's Daily's commentary said the backlash against Chan and the angry response of netizens were uncalled for. All an illogical result from "feeling of confused and petrified" about what "freedom" really means. So the Party has, to the benefit of all freedom-loving people around the world, kindlyelaborated what freedom really means in practice:
The linchpin of [...]logic is but a simple balance between freedom and discipline. In this light, if freedom outweighs discipline, there will be chaos; and vice versa, if too much discipline or 'control' is exerted upon the public, there will be less freedom guaranteed to them. Following the above logic, people will easily form the common knowledge that one cannot have both freedom and discipline at the same time. Extendedly speaking, this logic also means that the Chinese have yet to keep a good equilibrium between the two. Once the discipline imposed on them is relaxed, the Chinese will be 'too free' to be tamed, and disorderly conduct will thereby arise. So was born Chan's conclusion: We Chinese need to be controlled.
It's as if people were pets that need to be taught and "tamed", or otherwise they'd run wild and (yes) free. No doubt as to who will be in charge of the "taming" process.
Hollywood stars are prominent celebrities, whose words and actions speak loudly and leave indeligible impressions on millions of fans around the world. Some take up the noble cause of championing greater attention for the ongoing genocide in Darfur, some the speak out against the continuous oppression and "cultural genoicide" in Tibet, while others remind us of the realities of global warming, animal rights, refugee crises, and the plight of AIDS orphans.
And then you have a star like Jackie Chan, who seems content to be repeating the Orwellian newspeak of the Chinese government and defend why it is that millions of Chinese people should have to live under a state of control with the "government [playing] an instructive or even enlightening role in standardizing the public conduct". Even Steven Spielberg was quick to distance himself from the Chinese regime when he realised working for the Opening Ceremony of the Bejing Olympics was asking for trouble.
I end with a memorable quote by Chief Inspector Lee, whom Jackie Chan played in Rush Hour 2. Perhaps when Chan was memorising the line, he did not fully grasp its meaning. Or its significance:
Not being able to speak is not the same as not speaking. You seem as if you like to talk. I like to let people talk who like to talk. It makes it easier to find out how full of shit they are.
The music brought me to tears. Beethoven's despair, anger and self-resentment, yet also expression of heroism and admiration of greatness and magnomity.. The Eroica Symphony has for a long time been a favourite... it accompanied me through those uncertain days of the first months of university in London... and this mornng, it accompanied me through the first fragile moments of my waking.
The worst parts of the exam period is over. For the past few weeks I've been dreading these three days of intense exam-after-another. French written test, then space law, the latter of which I've not really studied much for. But I think I did well in both.
But the underlying despair is not really the fear of not being able to do... but the hopes and expectations that I sense others have in me, and the great fear that I am disappointing them. Ever since the 'loss' in the moot court, this feeling seems to have multiplied, and I am left with a sense of loss and disappointment in my own abilities, similar emotions that had lingered for months since I arrived in Canada. Feelings, and now for the last few days, also dreams of my dad...
In the dream I am questioned by two people I know from school. What my motivation was for getting the fellowship and money I had received to study for (almost) free. At first I was admenant, defending myself, saying and listing all these things that I 've done as a part of my "service to the community"... but one person kept on insinuating, kept on implying how useless, how unmotivated, how worthless I was, and that I was not deserving at all of the fellowship....
Then I broke down under pressure, and cried. Through tears, in a wavering, sobbing voice, my torments poured out. Do you know what it feels like to loose someone? To loose someone and then to have dreams of him? To loose someone and then having to start a complete new life again? I know I have been underperforming, I know I have not really been my best lately, and how I want to be back to my 'normal' old self again, back to that boy who could, who excelled, who was not afraid to just work, just write and who seemed to impress people without even wanting to.... But I feel like I'm losing it, losing that magical touch, that inspiration, that charm and wonder that resisded in me before. And left behind, the empty shell of someone emotionally distraught, fatigued, lacking in depth, in meaning, perhaps even angered, but definitely going from day to day only through the grace of life's own momentum..
Dreams of my dad.... who had already passed for over a year now. Where is it all coming from? Why am I having them still? I don't want to revert to my emotional weaknesses and traumatised psyche all the time to explain my personal failings and inability to perform up to speed... But I feel sometimes so exhausted, overwhelmed already from the feelings and thoughts running through me, through my conscious, and undoubtedly the myriad of stormy emotions that run through my subconscious...
A few days before the start of the exam period. It's late at night. I know I should be going to bed soon, especially if I want to break from that routine of waking up late and sleeping late, especially if I want to avoid feeling drowsy and down during the day.
It's been a somewhat rough few days. Probably doesn't help that I'm locking myself indoors and only going out when necessary. I just feel somewhat demotivated, lost... alsof ik ontbreek aan inspiratie, kleur en daadkracht in mijn leven (for some reason, when I stumbled into the bathroom this morning, that sentence just came to my mind). And I feel daunted by the exam ahead, especially since I've not read much of the required readings, and to be honest, a lot of the issues covered don't interest me much. Worse is, it's my field of study: space, and I'm supposed to be the all-so-brilliant fellow...
Then I hear mum's voice, mum's enouragements and kindness on the phone, and I feel rejuvenated. If only for a little while, I feel like I could go on again, I could face all this and strive forward. Try your best, she said, it's not like we expect a lot from you... you know when you've tried your best, and that is enough... don't put too much pressure on yourself, don't feel too stressed and upset.... don't be too hard on yourself... Very touching words. And deep down inside, I feel soothed. If only for a little while...
They fall like snowflakes, spiral slowly down, down into the river that devour them below. But they only fly and fall once the snow has come and gone. Flighty and bright, blossom petals bloom and shed like sprinklings of snow from the sakuras in the slightest breeze.
I walked around the Tidal Basin, kicking at the rain as it drenched my clothes and hair. I gazed at distorted silhouettes and the wavering reflection of my own image barely recognisable in the pools of dirty rainwater. Ripples radiated and died. Birds twittered above, and squirrels scurried as I approached.
The museum crowds huddled around, patiently queuing to get indoors. The normally inquisitive and culturally-minded me was lost, and my mood was dampened. Perhaps by the incessant rain, perhaps by fatigue, and perhaps by the events of the past few days.
It has been intense to say the least, and I have still to recover from the accumulated lack of sleep over the course of several weeks. And Saturday was the height of it all. There we were, together with 8 other teams, all vying for the prestigious place of representing North America in the Finals of the space moot. But we all knew only one team would go through.
I was extremely proud of my team mates, and as was my professor, and even some of the judges who came to speak to and congratulate us. My co-counsels were articulate, well-versed in the law and the facts, quick on their feet. While some teams erred on the law, seriously misquoted ICJ cases and facts, we were confident and consistent in all we argued and defended. We seemed invincible, and we knew it. But mediocricy seemed to have an unfair advantage.
To be fair, we scored badly in our written briefs. It was kind of expected, especially since we rushed to complete it in a relatively short period of time. Had we had more time, for research, for brushing up our written arguments, for moulding every sentence, every word into one coherent and forceful voice, we would have fared so much better and further ahead. But that’s too late now. It is, as always, frustrating to see and know that some team with only mediocre knowledge of the law deserved a place in the Finals.
Cliché as it may sound, and perhaps sour to admit and remind yourself as a sort of self-consolation, it is not all about winning that matters most. The experience, the time spent together as a team, the efforts combined to go through ups and downs. I guess all those elements, the hard work through late nights and early mornings, those efforts sneaking food and drinks into the library, those illuminating moments when we managed to develop a offensive strategy of attack, the closer ties we have built along the way… they matter more than winning.
As I sped home, blue skies revealed themselves behind the dense gray clouds, and the sun came out of hiding. The brief spring shower has come and gone.
He caught my eye almost as soon as I stepped in. I glanced in his direction a number of times, and there was something about him that seemed to capture me.
He fidgeted nervously with his wallet, fingering with cards, pieces of paper and faded pictures. Now and then he'd look up, and I'd turn away to hide my look. The carriage violently lurged from one stop to another. The rest of the world seemed oblivious.
Then he unrolled his sleeve, and there were cuts. Fresh ones, some still bleeding. Scabbed ones from wounds before. Scars of hidden, untold miseries. All along the inside of his arm, red and hideous against his pale, smooth skin. He looked around, his head twitched. And out came a key that began to carve.
"Why are you doing this?" I wanted to grab him, to make him stop.
"It's too painful..."
"What's too painful? "
"The pain... at home..." He continued rubbing the sharp edges of the key against his arm. Did anyone else notice? Did anyone else care?
"Whatever it is, you don't have to do this to yourself..." I wanted to hold him close, tell him it'll all be alright. Tell him that it'll be over soon, even if it's a lie to deceive and comfort.
"I can't take it any more..." He looked at me, if only fleetingly. But it was enough for me to see the fear, anxiety and hurt deep down those blue empty eyes. Guilt-ridden, timid, yet crying out for help.
The tires screeched, and the train came to a bumpy halt. The doors loudly slammed opened, and the crowd began to pour out.
In one swift movement, he stood up, threw his hood over his head, and strode out of the carriage, disappearing to become one of the unknown, unseen, unheard and faceless bodies on the crowded platform.
I stood in an almost empty carriage. With all those words unsaid left alone in my head.
The little slip inside the fortune cookie wasn’t exactly correct. At least not about this trip. At least not so far.
It was only when I got to the hotel that it hit me, crept up my spine, and froze my thoughts. Temporarily I was short of breath, my heart skipped, and my eyes felt like watering. The realisation, then the despair, followed by a sense of guilt, to be replaced soon thereafter with the insight that it was pointless to worry, pointless to get upset. However upsetting it may be to lose a brand new suit that I had worn only once two days earlier.
I tried to retrace my steps, tried to picture the places I have been since this morning. Taxi to the airport, check-in desk, security check, the restaurant where I had pancakes (explicitly without the sausages or bacon), the lounge where we sat and waited for the gates to open. Up till then I had it with me. After that it all became a blur. My co-counsel assured me that she had seen it on-board the flight. But the excitement of turbulence in those final moments of descent, and of looking out the window to watch the Pentagon fly by overwhelmed my normally careful self.
I tried to imagine the times, locations, moments wherever it may be possible that my suit may have lost itself (or that it has lost me). Air Canada promised to look for it, and if found deliver it to my hotel if I’m still in Washington. If not, the lady on the phone assured me, they will keep on searching for the next two months. A black suit with matching pants, a white long-sleeve shirt, two ties (purple and shiny blue), and an orange astronaut pin that is only available at the souvenir shop of ESA’s ESTEC (which is only open a few hours on Wednesday afternoons). My mind wandered to the curious image of baggage handlers with sniffer dogs, scouring every inch of the two airports and of that little fragile Embraer I was on to live up to their promise.
I felt bad needing to buy a brand new suit, and the shirt and tie to go with it. Even worse as I walked down M Street carrying my bright, big colourful bags. A Vietnam veteran, with unkempt hair, wielding a sign scribbled with “God help me!”, together with half a dozen with empty, sunken (or drunken?) eyes ogled at me as I walked on by.
After much struggles, we finally made it. Here, right in the heart of Washington DC, preparing and mooting still into the earlier hours of the morning, compromising our sanity and sleep. At this time tomorrow, we will know if it was all worth it.
Two, almost three months of work, the last couple of weeks of which have been going constantly at the facts, law, trying to nit-pick and to refine arguments and rebutals to the most convincing, assertive and coherent way possible. It will be test and tried tomorrow.
I have faith in my team mates, and to be honest, much more than once I felt or had at a time when things were sometimes getting too much. Now I look at them as they plead, confidence in their voices, assertiveness in their posture, and regurgitating facts and legal positions like the highly esteemed legal experts they have suddenly become in the past few weeks. Winning is not necessary everything.
I think I did and tried all I could. Speaking of 'sacrifices' will be thinking too much of myself. But I did try to be there, to respond to comments, to reflect back arguments, to fill in the gaps whenever possible. Perhaps at times I can be difficult to work with, and maybe too picky and wordy when things can be explained in a line or two. But I think they really have a grasp of the law, and I can (hopefully) just sit back and feel somewhat proud.
I feel somewhat better after a few days of intense hard work. And having these mascots with me while I work away in the library sort of boosts my energies.
Less than 5 more days till the big moot day, and I feel somewhat more confident. We finally managed to hash out a coherent argument and counterarguments for both of the States we're going to be arguing on behalf of. Everything needs to flow, every contention needs to be logically, substantiated, and justified. Every word needs to be carefully chosen, used and explained if necessary. There is no room for slipping up on the arguments, no place for flawed rationalisation, no opportunity to contract what you just said. Which is why I'm better of sitting back and watching my team members plead, while I do the preparatory work now.
I came home after almost 14 hours of lectures and work after the lectures. I feel exhausted, yet much better than I did before. I spoke to mum for a while. Two months ago I bought her tickets to go see Swan Lake, in the hope she'd step out of the house and do something that will bring joy and music into her life. She went with a good friend (who happens to be her cousin), and almost immediately the first word mum said was that she thoroughly enjoyed the performance. She said the dancing was wonderful, the music beautiful, as were the decor and the live experience of it all. It was late when she got home, but she felt good. And I could hear the enthousiasm in her voice.
But she told me about her knees, and I become worried. For some time she has been having pains in her joints. Signs of decalcification, normal aging process the doctors said. But she said it hurts when she walks, and she feels weak, as if she may easily fall over. I listened and felt concerned... imagined her walking up and down those 5 flights of stairs every single day. How incovenient it must be, how painful it must be to take each step...
Mum said she's thinking about moving, to somewhere with a lift. She rememebered how dad used to complain about taking the flights of stairs.... and I remembered that he would always rest once in a while to catch his breath, while holding onto the handrail as he slowly ascended the stairs. And now mum realises how inconvenient it really is... I wish I could help her find a place, help her move, help her pack and that she wouldnt have to worry so much abut all going up and down the stairs everyday...
She also told me about this herbal medicine that a friend of her took her to buy in the mountains. Some kind of fungus that's indigenous to Taiwan. Very expensive, but is supposed to detox the body, and supposedly very effective against cancer. You make a kind of tea with it. It makes you kind of dizzy at first, and tastes bitter, but it's supposed to be very effective. Had dad been able to have this, then it wouldn't have been too late, mum said...
There are moments that dawn on you. Such as one as I stood there waiting for the metro home tonight.
I suddenly felt so small... awed and dazed by the amount of work and lack of time in which to deal wit it all. I felt small, almost shrinking as the thought ran through me, right there on the platform. Perhaps after 14 hours or so of lectures, work, reading and writing, I was feeling dizzy and my world spin.
Less than two weeks till the big moot competition in Washington DC. Practice runs in the coming weeks, and my role is to act as the source of law and references to support my two other team mates who will do the actual pleading. I already made it clear at the start that I'd not be good in speaking, definitely not in front of judges and an intimidating forum of claims, counter-claims, rebutals and surrebutals. I just don't think I'm quick enough for all of that, at least not quick enough to formulate my thoughts and translate them into a coherent and eloquent enough argument that will silence the opponent team. I leave that to the other two girls who are much more confident, much more fluent in their English speaking abilities.
And so I'm here, close to midnight... phrases, semblances of words and legal principles still lightly echoing in my head. I feel daunted, challenged, small because I feel there is still so much I do not know. Can one ever be prepared? Can one ever be sufficiently briefed and prepared for all possible arguments and counter-arguments? I feel somewhat pressured, especially being the one in the Institute with a fellowship position. I feel I must perform, must excel, must suceed, or otherwise it'd be like a 'waste' of their faith and all the resources they've invested in me, in us.
Perhaps I'm just thinking too much, frowning and fretting as I write this... It's a competition. There are winners, there are losers. And we can only be one, or the other. But try we did, no matter what.
It's been a while since I last blogged. I mean really write something and reflect on what has been going on in my life. Between travels, and being part of a moot team, I rarely have time to myself nowadays.
In a way, it's good. I seem to be so much happier to be busy, to wake up everyday and work towards something... even if this something requires me to spend almost every moment of my waking moments in the last two weeks to be almost constantly thinking about space, law and militarisation. I enjoy the experience, but have really been going to bed late and eating not so healthily, despite my promise to myself to really take care of myself after coming back from Taiwan at the beginning of February.
Other than that, I've been getting to know msyself a little more. At least, through friends. One particular person stands out, someone I met and really connected with back in December, and we've been spending a lot of time together of late. Perhaps too much time? Especially as he is already with someone.... I'm not sure how I feel about this all... Knowing that at times I'm in the library till late, he even brings me dinner. It's so touching, so very romantic. But what does it all mean? I just don't know, and it's in a way intimi--dating... But it does feel so wonderful every time I see him, and I smile when I see him.
He was either insane, or unbelievably wise. There is but a thin line separating the two.
I see him almost daily, just as I come up of the escalator at Peel. Often I have the urge to approach him, offer him something I have in abundance, yet most days I just walk on by on my way to school, ushered forward by time and obligations.
This morning I did the same thing. The sun was bright, the streets empty. But the image of the man lingered, and lingered even longer, making me turn back again. I approached him, and he greeted me. I offered him a banana, and that was how the philosophical (or perhaps completely nutty) conversation began.
We must have talked for over a quarter of an hour. More a monologue, with me asking questions to clarify what he was saying at brief intervals, what he was really saying, and trying to make connections with what he was saying and what I knew about the state of the world. Who is the real monarch of England? King Arthur. And of France? King Louis the Sixteenth. I didn’t quiet catch the connection. Canadians… all descendants of superior royals who left Europe and established themselves throughout the Americas.
I eyed his clothes and belongings as he rambled on… it looked like he put on everything he had to shelter himself from the bitter cold, and probably had two, three scarves around his neck. His dark hair was covered with two woolly hats, his pants torn and frizzled at the ends. He had a suitcase, a pretty nice and solid one at that, but one of the wheels is missing. To improvise, he ingeniously tied the suitcase on a skateboard with strings. Two big bags bulged with stuff, and another little plastic one contained a bag of chips, sweet cookies, and, yes, the yellow banana he just acquired from a complete stranger.
King Mariano, he called himself. A descendant of King Arthur of England, just like some of the Founding Fathers of America. Though, he added, he was originally born in Venezuela, the flag of which bears the colours of the royal families of the ancienne regime of Europe in the Middle Ages. I nodded, and let him continue, occasionally noticing the rusher-bys who sped past us without looking up. Those who did not see…
“Most people don’t really see, don’t really understand,” he went on, “Most people are educated to think this way, but are blind to understand what is really happening in the world. We’re all descendants of royalty”. For a moment, I thought about my own name, which roughly translated means “Great Crown”. Perhaps…
His teeth were crooked, and few, perhaps rotten from the cheap foodstuff he bought and ate regularly to get by. “How many elements are there in the periodic table?” I admitted it’s been a long time since high school Chemistry… “120 in total. At least, that’s what most people believe because it’s what they can see. But in reality there are over 700,000! We don’t acknowledge them, because human beings can’t ‘see’ them. Ignorant…”
I nodded quietly. Indeed, there is so much about the universe we don’t know, and yet we think human beings are so much more superior.
“Law, you study?” And for the next few moments came another episode of wisdom (or utter non-sense) that, to be honest, was somewhat, and sometimes, difficult to follow. When you injure someone, in whatever way, you create a little injury in the universe, was what he seemed to be saying. Say I refuse to let you sit on this public bench because you’re Asian. You may not feel ‘injury’, but at the molecular level there is injury. “Over time that accumulates, and generations from now the effects can be seen and felt”. Most people don’t see it, can’t see it. But the effects are there. I could perhaps understand what he was saying. The laws of Karma are irresistible and invisible, but they creates consequences and effects that bind us all to(gether in) our mutual circumstances, existences and interconnectedness.
At best he may be labelled a conspiracy artist, at worst a mad man who’s spent too much time brooding over the world’s wrongs and faults. All this in exchange for a banana on a Saturday morning. It was fair enough to me.
“Listen to Bach”, he said as his final words, “He’s a medical genius.”
The heavy doors of the metro station swung open. And I exited into the world.
